Azores Assignation

Edgar steadied himself against the bulkhead as the wake of a passing yacht sent his own ship to wallowing and scraping against the dock. He was hunched over the sink in the closely confined space, space being at a premium even in a Latitude 44 such as he'd sailed from Marseilles to the harbor town of Horta on Azores' Faial Island. He believed that he could find exactly what he wanted here, and he'd been preparing himself for the greater part of the morning to make the most of himself.

He was pleased enough with his form, fancying himself as looking a decade younger at least than his well-pampered fifty-two. He sighed at that thought, though, a decade younger not really making the difference he sought. It got no easier the older he got, although he found that a thick wallet helped considerably. He was leaning into the small mirror over the basin in the eternal search for gray hairs and plucking at the most noticeable ones; he was years beyond eradicating them all, and in Marseilles Tony had said his graying temples were distinguished, so maybe he should just make do with that thought. The wallowing of the ship certainly wasn't helping him in his quest, and at least he still had a full head of hair. There were men far younger than he was who couldn't say that.

He stood back as far as he could and peered into the mirror. Yes, everything seemed to be in as good an order as he could expect. He was really quite presentable. The thought of what he was about to do was arousing, and he felt the knob of his cock rub against the cotton of his stark-white cotton trousers. He had thought long and hard whether to wear anything under the trousers and was glad that he'd decided against it. He liked the feel of his cock being free and just below one thin layer of cloth.

Just one more thing: the hanky. He'd been intrigued to hear that they still followed the hanky code in the Azores. He was sorry that the code had gone out of style in Europe. The preliminaries could be a little difficult these days. It had always been so easy to tell when the hanky code was in vogue there. He reached over to his kit bag and pulled out the orange one. Yes, this was going to be an 'anything, anytime, anywhere' day for him. At his age there was so little time and fewer and fewer opportunities. He no longer could be picky and spend time deciding exactly what he was interested in at the moment with any hope of finding a hookup. So, it was anything, anytime, anywhere for him and he'd probably have to pay for it to boot.

While contemplating this, he dug into his kit and pulled out a tube of lubricant. Pulling down the rump of his slacks with one hand, he worked a glob of the lubricant into his hole with the other. He'd enjoy the squishy feeling of the lube inside his channel as he walked, and an anything, anywhere, anytime assignation could easily be one short on opportunity to prepare well enough. Pulling the slacks back over his plump rump, he dropped the tube in his pocket and opened the cabinet under the basin and selected three packets of ribbed condoms and pocketed those as well.

Edgar carefully folded the orange hanky and inserted it in his right shirt pocket, letting several inches of the hanky show. He'd selected a stark-white sports shirt to top his white cotton slacks precisely so that the bright orange hanky in his right shirt pocket could not be missed. Then, taking one last appraising look at himself in the mirror and convincing himself, by squinting, that he was seeing what he wanted to see, he turned, walked out on the deck of the tug-like yacht and across the teak deck and jumped up to the pier. Looking up at the tiers of buildings of the town of Horta rising up from the busy yacht basin, he smiled at the prospect of what lay ahead and set out for Peter's Cafe Sport.

At the cafe, Edgar selected a table back out of the sun, under the awning, near the side wall, and sat down, facing the yacht basin. There were few other patrons about at this time of the morning, which Edgar had been told was the best time for what he wanted. He ordered two Magna beers, which assured that the waiter wouldn't be back to fawn over him anytime soon. As he was nursing the first beer, he focused on exactly what he thought he was looking for.

The young man was perhaps in his mid twenties, dark-skinned, possibly Moroccan, but with handsome, chiseled features that hinted of French ancestry as well. Jet-black hair, close cropped, thick and curly. A three-day growth of beard that obviously was kept at that length because it suited the face well, although the impression was left that his hair grew quickly. Edgar contemplated how a hairy chest usually went with that and was glad for that. Tall, well-muscled, but still looking very trim. The young hunk moved gracefully, like a dancer or an athlete as he picked out a table in the sun, on the same side of the cafe as Edgar, but choosing to sit facing the cafe rather than the yacht basin, so that he and Edgar were facing each other. He was sitting on the side of the table away from the other cafe patrons, as was Edgar. From the chest down only within the view of Edgar. He was wearing white, silky, draw-string shorts with a buttoned fly, and, similar to Edgar, a stark-white cotton sport shirt. Edgar sucked in his breath as he looked down at the young man's feet. He was wearing open-toed sandals. The feet were big and long, the toes long and plump.

And it was the sport shirt that caught Edgar's full attention. It was sleeveless, showing off the young man's well-developed biceps, and had button-down flaps on its shirt pockets. And attached to the right pocket was an unmistakable signaling device. Edgar's hands started to tremble and he had to set his Magna bottle on the table top. The young man had a black, rubbery cock ring, one of those ones with five knobs around the periphery, suspended from his right pocket. A giver. Exactly what Edgar was looking for. Edgar felt his knees go weak. The cock ring must be at least two inches across. His eyes went back to those long plump toes. Edgar could feel his cock stirring.

A waiter was at the young man's table, and Edgar heard him order a bottle of Cergal beer, but when the waiter was almost back at the bar near the door into the cafe's interior, the young man rose and took two steps toward him and changed his order to a bottle of Magna. He had turned away from Edgar, Edgar gasped audibly when he saw a mustard yellow hanky peeking out of the left back pocket of the young man's shorts. It was a color Edgar knew well; it declared over eight inches of available service.

Edgar's hand went to his lap. His cock was hard, and he rubbed across it through the material of his slacks. Thank god the Azores were still on the hanky code system. Less than a half hour and Edgar had found exactly what he wanted. It was almost too good to be true. Then Edgar chuckled. Reality was what you made of it, of course.

He looked up to discover that the young man was looking at him and was smiling. The young man slowly lifted his bottle of Magna almost to his lips. Edgar watched in fascination as the young man opened his lips and pushed his tongue out into the opening of the bottle and pushed it back and forth into the neck of the bottle. Then he extracted his tongue and turned the opening of the bottle until it faced Edgar. All of the time the young man was staring at Edgar with a little smile of challenge in his eyes. Edgar picked up his own beer bottle in a trembling hand and slowly closed his lips over and down the sides of the neck of the bottle, slowly pulled it away and then took it in again.

The young man pointed down in his lap, and Edgar looked down to find that the young man had unbuttoned his fly and the side of a thick, brown cock was showing below a thatch of curly black hair. Edgar fumbled around in a pocket, nearly overcome with arousal, and pulled out his wallet and set it down on the table and laid one of the condom packets on top of it.

The signaling was complete. The contract made.

The young man stood and slowly walked away from the cafe, up the cobble-stoned street rising beside the cafe and up into the town of Horta, away from the piers. Edgar stood, still trembling and followed the young man at a distance of some twenty feet. The young man sharply turned to the right behind the back of the cafe and Edgar followed him back along a narrow path with the back wall of the cafe at one side and lush semitropical foliage pushing out into the walkway behind a short retaining wall on the other side. Far enough down the pathway that he could not be seen from the street, the young man sat down on the retaining wall. He was pulling off a sandal when Edgar reached him.

'Here suck these,' the young man demanded in a rich, deep voice, in English kissed by a French accent, as Edgar sank to his knees on the pathway and took the long plump toes into his mouth and sucked on them. The young man had released his cock and was slowly pumping himself up.

'Now suck this.'

Edgar sighed with pleasure as he turned his attention to the thick, brown cock.

'All of it. Take it all,' the young man growled, as he palmed the back of Edgar's head and held his face close into his crotch. Edgar had all of the cock throated, but he began to gag as the cock lengthened and thickened inside him. He fought the gag reflex, though, because he was loving this, a vigorous young cock to suck on.

But then the young man was pulling out of him and standing and buttoning his fly.

'Come with me,' he said. 'I have a room nearby. I fuck you hard, yes? You pay me, yes?'

'Yes, yes, and yes,' Edgar gasped out as he struggled back to his feet. Ninth heaven. Well worth the sail out to the islands.

In the small hotel room, less than a block from the cafe, the young man had only one question. 'You know what the orange cloth means, yes?'

'Yes,' Edgar said. 'Anything, anytime, anywhere.' But he was a little fearful when he said it because he could see what the young man had laid out on the nightstand next to the single bed leather restraints, a ball gag, and a big, thick black rubber dildo.

In short order, Edgar was on his back, naked, on the bed; his wrists tied to the brass railing of the headboard over his head; the orange hanky stuffed in his mouth, held inside by the ball gag; two pillows under the small of his back, pushing his pelvis up off the bed, and a magnificently naked young man standing between his spread thighs and working the dildo inside his channel. The dildo was big and thick, but it wasn't as big as the nine incher pushing out of the black thicket of hair below the young man's belly.

Edgar was writhing and moving his pelvis off the leverage of his heels dug into the surface of the bed in countermotion to the invading, twisting dildo. The veins on his neck were bulging out as were his eyes, and he was screaming in muffled tones through the gag. Being taken hard. Loving every stroke of it.

When he was well open, the young man fiddled around in the pocket of Edgar's trousers and came up with one of the ribbed condoms, which he rolled onto his cock, barely being able to get it over what he was packing. He then pulled the dildo out, and almost teasingly, screwed it in one more time, to the bottom, to a depth and with the effect of lifting Edgar's pelvis off the pillows with a loud, muffled groan, pulled it out quickly, thrust it in again hard, and then pulled it out and exchanged it for a longer, thicker, throbbing, flexible brown cock. Pumping, pumping, pumping, while Edgar writhed and luxuriated under him.

Edgar achieved an ejaculation that far surpassed, both in force and in volume, any he had accomplished in his four month of cruising around the Mediterranean. He collapsed with a satisfied, exhausted sigh as the young man was still stroking deep inside him.

The young man smiled a sneery smile and said. 'You want me to come too?'

Edgar wagged his head yes. He so wanted to tell the young man that he wanted him to strip the condom off and to fill him with his semen, deep inside him. But he was gagged and couldn't do that. A minor disappointment. But he wouldn't think about it, wouldn't let that mar the glorious fucking he was getting.

The young man was fumbling around in the pockets of Edgar's trousers again and came out with Edgar's wallet. Holding it up in front of Edgar's eyes, he said, in that deep, mesmerizing voice of his, 'If you have enough for me in this wallet, I come. If not, I don't.' He put his hand in the wallet and brought out the banknotes and fanned them out. 'You are in luck. You have enough for bareback even. You want that?'

Edgar wagged his head yes vigorously, and watched in fascination as the young man withdrew from him and rolled off the ribbed condom.

The young man fucked him hard, fast, and deep then for several minutes, while Edgar arched up into him, spreading his thighs as widely as he could to get the full effect of the skin stroking on his channels walls. The young man ripped off the ball gag just before he ejaculated, and they cried out in unison at the prolonged bathing of Edgar's insides.

Edgar's blood was chilled while the young man was freeing him, when he said, 'You came by yacht, did you not? I saw you walking up the pier. You have a nice yacht, yes? You have a lot of nice things on this yacht of yours, yes?'

'Umm . . . I don't . . .' Edgar murmured.

'We go to your yacht now, yes?' the young man asked, turning on that slightly sneery smile, which entirely changed the demeanor of his handsome face.

'No, no . . . I don't think . . .'

'We go to your yacht now yes.' And it was no longer a question. The young man waved the saliva-slickened orange cloth in front of Edgar's face. 'You signaled anything, anytime, anywhere. We go to your yacht now.' He was holding Edgar close in to him and he took Edgar's mouth in his and kissed him brutally in a maneuver that ended in biting Edgar's lip and causing him to yip and gasp. The unexpected pain gave Edgar's dick a jolt. As brutal as the kiss was, it was also deeply sensual. Everything about this young man and everything he did to Edgar was arousing to Edgar.

The young man held Edgar's elbow to the threshold of pain as they stumbled down the cobble-stoned street and onto the pier. Edgar led him directly to his yacht, and when they were aboard, the young man pushed Edgar through the lounge and into the stateroom, pulling at Edgar's clothes and his own as they moved through the cabins. They were both naked again by the time they reached Edgar's berth. The young man pushed Edgar down hard on his belly on the berth and barked out, 'up on your knees, chest down, and legs spread wide. Now!'

Edgar had barely gotten into the demanded position before the young man was saddled over his hips and was thrusting inside him again, bottoming quickly. He was holding Edgar up with a palm on his belly and was squeezing Edgar's balls and pulling on his cock with the other. His fucking was frenzied now, the sliding of the cock now completely unhindered, aided by the mix of lubrication and previous come inside Edgar's channel. Both were vocal now, the young hunk's deep bass drowning out Edgar's higher-pitched moans and groans and cries at the total magnificent fucking he was getting.

Edgar shot his load for a second time under the attention of the young man's strong fist once more a large glob of cum in three strong spoutings. And then Edgar's knees gave out, and he sank stretched out full on the bed, with the young man coming down with him, his cock still deeply embedded, riding him hard for ten minutes more to his own ejaculation.

When he had come, the young man went into a slow collapse beside Edgar on the bed, both now stretched out full length on their sides, panting heavily, the slick sweat on the young man's curly-haired chest slicking up Edgar's trembling back.

Still churning languidly in a side-split, the young man brought his lips to Edgar's ear.

'Was that what you wanted, Ed? Did that do it?'

'Yes, Tony, that certainly did it. Did you see how strongly I came? This was just what I needed.'

'Yes, I found it nice too, my love,' Tony whispered. 'But we could have had this fantasy back in Marseilles, you know. We didn't have to come all of the way to the Azores for this.'

'Yes, but it pleases me, and I can afford it. Oh, god, to be as young virile again. I feel you rising again. I'm not sure I can . . .'

'Yes, you can . . . and you will,' Tony growled in that low voice of his, already beginning to take control again.

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A former SR71 jockey, journalist, diplomat, and spy who now writes novels in the mainstream in another, entirely different, facet of his life. Between his two pen names habu and Dirk Hessian, the author has more than 100 GM titles on sale in the marketplace. For illustrated GM stories by habu and his writing partner, Sabb, and their combined writings under the name Shabbu, visit www.barbarianspy.com. Habu's extensive collection of e-books can be found on Amazon, B&N, Allromanceebooks.com, Smashwords, KOBO, etc. He also writes and publishes GM historicals under the name Dirk Hessian.